Leonard Cohen (1934-2016)

This is getting rough, especially since he just published new material.

Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s amazing that some of the greats are able to drop albums right before they die… the perfect gift to a world that loved them.

But from now on, it’s going to start making me nervous. Like, “Oh, Beloved Old Artist is putting together a new record? And when will the funeral be held?”

RIP Leonard Cohen. You were part of the soundtrack of my early twenties, and you only got better with age. Yours and mine.

Election Night Theater

[CONTENT ADVISORY: This was written November 8th, 2016. I was not in a good mood. You’ve been warned.]

“I can’t believe things worked out this way.”

“Yeah, it’s crazy.”

“It’s just– I never really believed he had a chance.”

“No one did. A trust-fund brat with the soul of a used-car salesman isn’t fit to lead a nation.”

“I’m just so scared. I mean, what if— agghhh!”

“Finish that thought and I’ll hit you again, stupid. You know damned well I’m the only thing that scares you.”

“I-I’m sorry!”

“Mm. You’d better be. You don’t have time to worry about January when you’ve already fucked up November.”

“Oh God. Oh God! What did I do…?”

“Stop crying! Or, you know what, keep crying! I don’t fucking care. Just stop pretending you’re in shock. You knew what you were doing in that voting booth. You know what you did.”

“I thought you wanted— I did what I thought—!”

“How many times do I have to tell you that your thoughts are shallow, stupid, and worthless?”

“You tell me every day!”

“Exactly. Every goddamned day. And yet, what do you do the second my back is turned? You start thinking, and shit goes sideways. Every goddamned time.”

“But you— my wallpaper— you put his face on my phone, on my laptop…”

“You’re a dumb cunt. I figured having a smug, sneering, shitty old man staring at you all day would keep you in the proper frame of mind.”

“… you bought me that MAGA hat, made me wear it…”

“Red is your color. And your hair looked like crap that day.”

“…dressed me up like his wife…”

“Like a Eurotrash sugar baby? Yeah, of course I did, it’s a good look.”

“…those men, at the campaign rally, the stuff you let them do to me…”

“That’s on you. I have to seek out the worst kind of people just to find someone willing to fuck you.”

“Y-you told me to do it!”

“I certainly did not.”

“You DID!”

“…”

“…you did… you told me…”

“I told you to go vote, and remember to do the right thing. But what did you do?”

“…”

“If I have to ask again, your head’s going in the toilet, and you’ll be answering until I stop seeing bubbles.”

“I… I did the wrong thing.”

“You sure did, genius… you sure did.”

greedyagain:

bedtimestoriesforbrokengirls:

rapekittn:

i need a man who’d kill for me

So, just to clarify, is that:

“I need a man who’d kill in my defense.”

…or:

“I need a man who’d kill his way through a summer camp full of slutty cheerleaders just to get to me.”

If it’s the latter, I have but one thing to say to you.

“Chh chh chh chh… ahh ahh ahh ahh…”

Maybe she’s just trying to hire a hit.

So, less Jason Voorhees and more Jason Bourne? No slutty cheerleaders?

Great. Thanks a lot, killjoyagain.

I Think My new Daddy is cheating on me what should I do … Well no I don’t think I positively know now so 😣

You already know what you should do. Unless you were raised in a bubble of female subservience with no access to the outside world, you know what to do when your new man immediately starts banging another chick on the sly. You know how the women who share your deepest cultural expectations would react, and you know the possible range of outcomes from those reactions. This is Adulting 101 stuff.

So what you’re really asking is: “Given that I am a fucked-up, pathetic little cunt, incapable of taking even the most basic steps toward preserving my emotional well-being, what can I do to make the experience of being a sexual doormat as interesting as possible?” And fortunately for you, I’m here to help your stupid ass with a three step plan.

1. Figure out why you’re insufficient. Spend some time alone –say, curled up in a masturbatory fetal position in the corner of your closet– thinking about why fucking her is so much better than fucking you, why her voice is less annoying, why her words have more meaning, and why her actions bring him greater satisfaction. Imagine him inside her, and how much better she feels; how her body was made for his cock, while your own was made for his sense of humor.

2. Realize you can’t fix it. Sure, there are the odd tweaks you can make to improve yourself, but most of your flaws are intrinsic. You can’t beat her, because she was born better. You can slather on makeup, etch ink into your skin, study your word-a-day calendar, and surgically alter whatever you like, but you’ll never fool anyone into confusing what you are with what she is.

3. Lean into the pitch. Embrace your inferiority. Tell him you know, and you’re proud of him. Admit that you could never truly respect a man who thought you were enough. Compliment his taste; tell him all the ways you’ve decided she’s better, and ask if you’ve left any out. Plead with him to take as many bitches as he likes, so she can someday feel the ache you’re feeling now. Encourage him to abuse his expanding harem, twisting their little souls into knots while you laugh and applaud beside him. If you can’t be what he needs, then you can damned well become indispensable in helping him get it.

Or you could, y’know, dump his ass. Be yourself… that’s the important thing.